


R&L Swiftfics

by loudspeakr



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Reminiscing, Songfic, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudspeakr/pseuds/loudspeakr
Summary: An incredibly niche and admittedly self-indulgent collection of short stories about R&L as inspired by various Taylor Swift songs.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	R&L Swiftfics

**Author's Note:**

> This happens a lot: I'll be listening to specifically TS's music and be _immediately_ struck with an idea for a fic. Which, more often than not, I begin writing - until my excitement for the narrative eventually peters out, and I'm stuck with a half-finished, half-great piece of work.
> 
> So my brain out-of-the-blue had the thought: why don't I just keep them purposely short and bunch 'em all together in one thing? And so, here we are. 
> 
> Each work/story/oneshot/whatever will be chaptered and named after the song that inspired it. They also (likely) won't be edited by a second person - this is more just an exercise for me to get them out of my head. Enjoy! <3

Link remembers dancing across that last state line with him. They’d done it a few times by then - through rain, snowfall, to blaring horns and empty roads. The last time was to a glorious sunrise, by the shoulder of a motionless highway - colder than he’d expected it to be for a morning on the west coast. They shouldn’t have stopped the truck where they had, but Rhett insisted.  _ This is the last one, man_, he’d said.  _ We gotta end it right. _

The footage was nothing too special, a shot of two dancing silhouettes from a camera balanced precariously on a concrete ledge. But it makes him smile now, makes him feel a little closer to home.

He’d seen him playing with some of the other boys before school. Hadn’t seen him around before, nowhere around town. Maybe he’s new - but how could he be? He’s talking and acting like he’s been friends with everyone here forever. He remembers wondering what that was like.

Miss Locklear was telling them about shapes. She’d told them to be quiet when she was using the blackboard, that they needed to listen, but out of the corner of his eye… it’s that kid again. Next table over, he can see him playing with a crayon. He’s gonna get in trouble for not listening if Miss catches him. 

_ But what if Miss catches me watching him? _ He didn’t want to get in trouble for not listening either.  _ Wait. What’s he doing now? He’s… he’s writing! But there’s no paper. What’s it say? _

_ He can’t write that!  _

_ But now the boy’s showing someone else, and they’re laughing, and somehow Miss doesn’t hear them. Maybe that’s how he does it, how he made all his friends, why everyone seems to like him. _

_ Oh, he sees me looking, points to the crayons over here. I grab the dark blue and write the first thing I can think of. He’s smiling big at me. _

He doesn’t remember how Miss Locklear caught them.

The Oldsmobile had been a big deal. A sweet taste of freedom. Link remembers the first time he’d heard the jingle of Rhett swinging the keys around his finger, thinking the move looked cool. He never bothered to tell him otherwise.

Surely the neighbours hated them, just a little bit. They’d tear up the street on their way out of town, blaring music as soon as they’d cleared the main road. The first few nights of driving after sunset had made him nervous, but soon, it was like second nature.

The day it died, it felt like leaving a childhood home. It had held many a sacred thing, until it didn’t.

Another warm evening spent on the floor of Rhett’s bedroom. Bellies full from dinner, they had music playing - another one of Cole’s tapes maybe - and though he had his own bed, Rhett lay on the carpet beside him, tossing a small plastic ball in the air.

Link’s memory snags there, recalling how he’d kept his focus on that ball for some reason as it was tossed up and caught time and time again. He remembers fixating on the prospect of Rhett missing it one time and being smacked in the face as a result - he might’ve even given voice to that one.

Though he doesn’t recall the response, he remembers the rhythmic slap of that ball against Rhett’s palm eventually lulling him to sleep.

He remembers struggling to drag an old fridge across campus. He could’ve sworn Rhett wasn’t really pushing behind him, and sure, maybe they could’ve come up with a better solution than to move the thing on a friend’s old wheelbarrow with a flat wheel - but after Rhett and his family provided everything else, Link was so proud of his contribution to their honestly shitty little dorm room. He was going to get it in there one way or another.

They’d managed to get it up the few front steps, bypassing the staff who would have absolutely forbidden the dirtied wheelbarrow from entering the building, and after what had felt like an entire afternoon dedicated to this endeavour, the thing was finally shoved into the tight spot between Rhett’s desk and their bunks.

The warm glow from its internal light felt like victory - and Rhett spent the next four years filling it with old take-out.

It was a Thursday night, one of many they’d spend together, miserable, exhausted. He couldn’t remember what first set them off - was it something he did, or that Rhett did? Was it the fact that it felt like they were going nowhere after giving everything up, or that they were trying to make  _ something _ of themselves in someone else’s basement?

He remembers work winding down eventually, the two of them sitting together on that ghastly couch. It was raining outside, gloomy. He didn’t want to sleep here tonight, but he’d told his wife he would. It felt like another promise:  _ it’ll get better… right? _

_ Sure it will,  _ Rhett told him back, eyes looking as tired as he felt - he must’ve said that out loud. He resisted the urge to lean his head down on his friend’s shoulder.

_ How do you know? _

_ Because it’s us. _

It had been. They’d gone through all of it, always together. 

He remembers it feeling like every emotion he’d ever felt rushing at him all at once. He remembers leaning in, being met halfway.

_ So better? _

He remembers the look of disgust on Rhett’s face the next morning.

Link doesn’t need to remember the rest. 

It’s all well-recorded, kept on memory cards, hard drives, and on the internet for posterity and entertainment value: a mostly complete showcase of the years-turned-decades they somehow spent growing together and apart. 

And some days, Link’s even able to pass his memories off as works of fiction, designed to keep his unsettled mind at bay. 

But it’s times like these, as he sorts through the old storage unit, that he finds it a little harder to lie to himself. Here he finds photos, mementos that tell him another story: of two boys who happily ventured into life together, side-by-side.

A best friendship spanning decades, a love lasting even longer.

He doesn’t remember the phone call anymore, but he’s able to reacquaint himself with the same brokenness he first felt a lifetime ago.

He doesn’t recall the arguments or the years of longing, but he’ll tell you what it’s like to sing at the top of your lungs in an Oldsmobile between never-ending fields or how it feels to dance like idiots in the early morning next to a road out in the middle of nowhere.

He can’t feel the heartbreak anymore, but he can still feel the warmth of his best friend’s laughter.

That, he remembers all too well.

**Author's Note:**

> My username is usually 'loudspeakr' - feel free to yell at me at all the places.


End file.
